


They Will Run You Down, Down 'til the Dark

by Silver_and_gold_crow



Category: Preacher (Comics), Preacher (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Basically Cassidy kills people for fun, Dark Cassidy, Gen, Internal Conflict, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_and_gold_crow/pseuds/Silver_and_gold_crow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once in awhile, Proinsias Cassidy looked back and wondered how life would have turned out had he been the good guy. He still would have had to harm people, it came with the territory, but it would have been in self defence rather than for sport. Maybe he’d even have a friend or two that weren’t products of severe manipulation.<br/>It sounded boring as all hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I somehow got stuck with the idea of stereotypical vampire Cassidy, and this happened. Let it be known this is extremely dark, and will probably only get darker.  
> I've also never written a multi-chapter fic before so I would love feedback before starting part two!

Annville, Texas was wary of drifters.

It mirrored essentially every other small, Southern town. Generations of families had been born, raised, and died in the region. Those that had settled the area and built it from nothing, such as the Quincannons, were considered royalty while the few newcomers to the area were inferior until proven otherwise. The majority of the population took pride in knowing the intimate details about one another, about secrets that could destroy lives. Nothing was sacred.

That being said, no one was comfortable when a lanky, accented man began asserting himself in town.

It wasn’t the bar fight, nor was it the way he seemed to worm into the local preacher’s life like a parasite attaching to its host; no, it was the mere air he carried himself with. As if he could snap necks with but a glance or use voodoo to cause destruction and panic. 

And that was precisely how Cassidy liked it.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Once in awhile, on a day when he was feeling particularly retrospective and perhaps even the tiniest bit guilty, Proinsias Cassidy looked back and wondered how life would have turned out had he been the good guy. He still would have had to harm people, it came with the territory, but it would have been in self defence rather than for sport. Maybe he’d even have a friend or two that weren’t products of severe manipulation.

It sounded boring as all hell.

The day he turned he was forced to choose between being a good guy, therefore making himself vulnerable for all eternity, or taking the route of sheer power and destruction. The second he bit into an innocent mother’s neck to feed, it was over. The choice had been made.

That one moment had defined the past hundred or so years for him. Find somewhere new, establish himself as a force in the area, feed off of and terrorize the locals, and move on. It was a great way to see the world as well as gain a little notoriety. Hearing a national news story about how some podunk town was hit with a crisis of missing people always got him going. 

Although he usually chose his hunting grounds, first Cork, then Aberdeen, all the way to a Los Angeles suburb, Annville was a happy accident. Never before had he taken a plunge out of an airplane but if it landed him in such a perfect place, he might have to do it more often.

For the first few hours, everything went according to plan. He found the heart of the small town and scoped it out, finding both potential victims as well as those he needed out of the way. He even got the added bonus of a relatively brutal bar fight out of the deal. 

It seemed to Cassidy this would be the easiest hunt he’d had in well over a decade. Until Jesse Custer ended up in a cell with him.

At first it was impossible for Cassidy to escape the irony of killing a preacher. Even in the rampant Catholic confines of Ireland he was never afforded the opportunity, although that wasn’t to say it hadn’t occurred to him. The second he caught sight of Jesse’s collar he knew Annville had been his destination for a reason; any self respecting vampire would feed off a man of the cloth simply as a big “fuck you” to all the so called holy bastards that hunted them. It didn’t escape Cassidy’s notice the preacher could handle himself in a fight, and even so he didn’t find it strange. In a town such as this sometimes a fist to the face made more of a point than any number of Hail Mary’s. 

Good. He enjoyed a challenge every so often.

The next few weeks were a delicate dance of deception and manipulation. Throw in a couple of “you’re my best mate”’s into a conversation and Jesse was under his thumb almost instantly. In any other situation Cassidy would have found it pathetic, a sign of weakness he hadn’t felt himself for a century. But he had made a miscalculation. Years of getting close to people, either through sex or as a much needed source of companionship, had never failed him. He had never let the facade drop and let himself become emotionally invested. Until now. 

It was the night of the chainsaw incident when he first noticed everything in his plan going to hell. It was simple: steal Jesse’s keys, go hunt down his first target, the arseface, and feed for the first time in a week. The kid had been on the top of Cassidy’s list since the day he strolled into town, and who was he to deny himself the pleasure? He’d done fantastically at keeping up the “strange but good natured repairman” act and deserved a reward. Nobody would care about the boy going missing anyway.

He should have sped up, should have kept the truck flying over potholes as he neared Annville proper. Who was he to care if Jesse was okay passed out on the floor? The dosage of air conditioning fluid he had provided was a genius plan, one of his best. Besides, it had taken him nearly a week of drinking together to gain enough trust so the bottle would be plucked from his hand. Returning now, unsatisfied and hungry, would be a waste. 

He kept telling himself that as the vehicle hung a U-turn, as it drove down the dusty road, as it was returned to the parking spot it had previously occupied. His hands shook with desire for blood and the feeling of a limp body in his grasp as he opened the church door.

In the aftermath of the bloodshed, he convinced himself the rush of anger he felt at seeing a man holding a chainsaw directly over Jesse’s head was due to the fact that was his target, the person in town he had laid claim to. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact he cared about the preacher ever so slightly.

The fight was one of the best he’d had in ages. Every crunch of bone excited him more. The sound of skin tearing and blood beginning its exit from the body could only be compared to the first heroin high after months of waiting, or the type of lay that only came around once a lifetime. Each scream or gurgled gasp for breath left him wanting more, filled with an insatiable bloodlust.

Once the two men were confirmed to have every ounce of life sucked out of them and as much blood was devoured from the floor as possible, Cassidy’s eyes turned to Jesse. It was a perfect moment, the high of the battle combining with the almost angelic sight of a preacher passed out in a pool of blood. He had waited for this moment since first strolling into the run-down bar, acting like he owned the place. The time had come.

Walking softly toward the figure sprawled on the floor, Cassidy was overcome by the smell of purely human blood. The sound of it pumping through veins and arteries, being recycled over and over and over, nearly drove Cassidy insane. He imagined the first bite, the first taste of the blood he had craved. He knelt on the floor, nose pressed to the jugular. It would be such an easy strike and Jesse probably wouldn’t be aware of his demise.

Which was the exact opposite of what Cassidy wanted. He stopped himself, licking a small stripe along the exposed neck before him as a treat. A tantalizing reminder of what he was working for. He wanted sweat and blood, wanted each other to be bloodied by their own knuckles. There was no passion in feeding from an already unconscious man. He lived for the struggle.

Using every bit of self restraint he had gathered over the years, Cassidy tore himself away from the fountain of blood before him. He groaned and shifted, leaning his head against Jesse’s stomach. 

“I better be right about your sorry ass, Padre,” he spoke into the quiet of the church.  


He never told Jesse about the battle that occurred in his own treasured pews, at least not in detail. He kept the intimate details of his vampiric encounter to himself, thinking of it late at night as he hungered for the blood of both the preacher and his flock.

Enough had been done to prove to Annville he was staying. Now was the time to strike.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassidy managed to hold out for five days. In that time not a drop of blood was spilled on his behalf and Annville remained a town of sleepy peacefulness. Those five days felt like an eternity, watching victims come and go from right under his nose and only being able to smile and wave. But the waiting made the reward so much sweeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty gory, but perhaps not as bad as the events of 1x08.

There was nothing better than being back on the warpath after months of planning and waiting.

Cassidy forced himself to lie low following the church incident in case the hunters had friends coming or, even worse, were known throughout town. Not that he believed the corpses would ever be found, he was far too experienced for the thought to even cross his mind, but he feared the townsfolk might start asking questions. He hadn’t even picked off one of the flock; the guessing games couldn’t begin yet.

Thankfully, no one seemed to have the slightest idea what unholy atrocities took place in the building that evening. Even Jesse, who awoke long after the incident, didn’t suspect a thing. Sitting in the pews the following Sunday morning, Cassidy got a bizarre pleasure from watching Jesse preach without an inkling of knowledge what had occurred. Mothers chided their ill-behaved children directly on top of where pools of blood formed while the sheriff sat where a head had been smashed in. If ignorance was bliss for the townspeople, Cassidy could have practically gotten off on it.

He managed to hold out for five days. In that time not a drop of blood was spilled on his behalf and Annville remained a town of sleepy peacefulness. Those five days felt like an eternity, watching victims come and go from right under his nose and only being able to smile and wave. But the waiting made the reward so much sweeter.

In the calm before the storm, Cassidy found himself growing more and more attached to the preacher he now lived with. The man could fight almost as well as him and obviously had little more attachment to the people of Annville than the vampire did. In between selecting victims and places to commit the crimes, he tried to think of ways to take Jesse down. It fascinated him and dominated hours of thought. Jesse was a skilled fighter with strength that rivaled a man as large as Donnie. Minus Cassidy’s supernatural gifts, of which he often neglected to use in a struggle in order to make it more interesting, he would be nothing short of a challenge. But Cassidy had a plan to win. He always did.

However, the plan did not account for the preacher gaining a supernatural power of his own. His heart sunk upon first hearing the news. But as Jesse talked about it- “it’s like I have the word of God inside me, Cass”- he found himself obsessed with the power. Soon he was volunteering to be a test subject for what was referred to as The Word.

It would have been great, had Jesse not stopped after running him into a wall.

“I can take a beating now and again, Padre. After all, I gotta see exactly what is needed to take a man like you down,” he said, adding in a Cheshire grin. Jesse simply rolled his eyes and shook his head. When all was said and done, Cassidy couldn’t say he never gave the man any warning.

Jesse paced the room, face contorted with a mixture of fear, anxiety, and the tiniest glint in his eye that Cassidy knew all too well. The preacher knew this thing inside him came with incredible amounts of power and he was only just beginning to delve into the implications of it. Cassidy got excited watching Jesse as he hoped suddenly he’d turn around and declare this Word thing turned him to a life of crime and he needed a certain vampire by his side. Cassidy was a sucker for power of any kind; seeing Jesse embrace his with open arms would have made the next century to come worth living.

It seemed the fantasy wasn’t due to happen as Jesse sunk down on the ratty old couch, head in hands. “Whatever this- this thing is Cassidy, it’s a monster. And now that it’s inside me, I’m one as well.” Reaching over to the coffee table, Jesse picked up a cigarette and lit it with trembling hands. “Nobody should be able force others to do their bidding. This is unnatural.”

Without thinking, Cassidy took a seat directly across from the preacher and looked him dead in the eye. “Listen mate, I can guarantee you there’s a lot worse monsters in the world than you. So you have some word in ya’ that can make people jump around and sing you a song, so what? You aren’t killing people for sport, so I’d say you’re still in the clear.” He snatched his own cigarette, a bit dismayed anything like that had come out of his own mouth. Even worse was the sense of worry he felt for Jesse as he considered the things he could do with The Word. Somehow, he was feeling protective of the preacher, his preacher.

If he was a better man- hah- he would have stayed with Jesse to help ease the fear and panic that clouded his features. He would have been what had always been missing from both their lives: a friend.

Cassidy wasn’t a better man. He was a killer.

He left Jesse in the living room with a mumbled “don’t do anything stupid,” and returned to his makeshift room in the attic to plan. Tonight was the first night, the first attack on Jesse’s flock. In an attempt to push away all compassionate thoughts of the preacher, he analyzed his plans once, twice, three times. He made sure the location he had gathered from local sources, otherwise known as the men at the café with nothing better to do than gossip, was correct. The light was finally starting to fade from the blazing Texas sun. It was almost time to strike.

Cassidy fantasized about the target. Although damaged, Eugene was young enough to have fresh blood. There would be a struggle, fight or flight was a real phenomenon, but he had to wonder just how much of a fight the young man would put up. Part of him thought he’d give up quickly and embrace death once again. On the other hand, Jesse had mentioned the kid regretted his decision and had implied he wanted the opportunity to live a full life.

Cassidy stood with a groan and stretched, limbering up for whatever was to come. The unknown was always made a hunt interesting.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He arrived at the Root household long after sundown. He took all of the back roads and avoided being seen in the town square all together as a precautionary measure. It was rarely a problem, but in a town where outsiders were mistrusted he couldn’t be too careful.

With a deep breath, he found purchase on the paneling that could be climbed to reach Eugene’s bedroom. Ironic, how he was shut away in an attic just like Cassidy. He had climbed two of the boards when a clatter and shout caused him to fall off.

“Goddammit, Eugene! How hard is it to carrying a fucking glass? And how the hell do you break it on carpet for Christ sakes? Life would’ve been a whole lot fucking easier if you’d just died!”

First, there was silence. Then, the sound of resigned steps heading toward the attic. Finally, the grumbling of the sheriff.

Cassidy stood in stunned silence, simply listening.

“Fucking good for nothing, can’t even off himself right. Sure as hell is his mother’s son.”

Funny thing, plans. They can change in an instant. 

Cassidy moved away from the side of the house, no longer searching for climbable materials. Instead, he used the faint streetlight nearby and his own superior vision to search for the unmistakable glint of a key. He found it within seconds, tucked away in the corner of one of the posts decorating the porch. Once again, he waited. He found a dark corner that afforded him a view of the sheriff in a La-Z-Boy, watching TV. Within ten minutes, the law was snoring away.

Making sure the click of the lock opening was as quiet as possible, Cassidy entered the house. The music blaring through the house made it apparent Eugene wouldn’t be a problem while the deed was done, thank God. Cassidy may have been a hunter for sport, but the abomination in the attic struck a chord with him.

With steps as light as possible, Cassidy approached the unconscious sheriff, allowing himself to get more and more excited. He stopped a few feet away and sniffed, the intoxicating scent of fresh blood pumping drowning everything else out, the same way a shot of tequila would. He took his time to savor the moment, watching the man breathe deeply and reveling in the fact it would be his doing to cause that final inhale. His hands shook the same way they did when getting another hit, anticipating the bliss that was to follow.

He had chosen Eugene as his first target to treat himself to the taste of young blood. The difference between a youth’s blood and an adult’s was not as distinct as the difference between a human and a cow, but it was present. The taste was much earthier when it came to younger people, it had an undertone of woodsy-ness that Cassidy found delectable. The older they became, the more that taste faded.

As he grew closer to the sheriff, he realized earthiness didn’t mean anything. All he wanted was blood, straight from the source. He wanted to taste the life flowing away beneath him. He wanted to feed.

In an instant, his self-control broke and he was on the man before him. In a perfect world he would have been able to take his time and make the sheriff regret every disgusting thing that had been said to his son. But he couldn’t afford Eugene hearing something and making an appearance. So Cassidy made do with what was given.

His hand clamped around the target’s mouth as he simultaneously clawed an arm open. It was a messy slash and didn’t run right down the vein, but it was enough. He ignored the prey’s eyes snapping open and the muffled yell beneath his hand. It was all textbook, really. Cassidy brought the arm to his mouth, reveling in the sensation. He hadn’t fed all too long ago, but this was pure bliss. So long had he spent fantasizing about the fresh taste of blood, of a body squirming in his grasp, it almost drove him crazy. He sucked quickly, not savoring as much as he would have preferred in order to drain blood quickly enough for the man to pass out. Then, the real fun began.

By the time Hugo’s eyes fluttered closed and his skin lost its color, Cassidy had almost drunk his fill. But there was a fresh body below him, a heart still desperately trying to crank out blood, and he couldn’t say no to that. He continued to let the blood rush, halfheartedly attempting to keep the escaping spurts on the couch.

When he finally managed to peel himself away, he felt like a new man. Every cell in his body quivered with anticipation for the next move. Every neuron in his brain screamed for him to run, jump, something to use this energy for. The breathing of his prey was shallow, barely there. God, Cassidy wanted to let him bleed out slowly to atone for what he had done. But the body still had to be disposed of and it wouldn’t do to get a trail of blood following them.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By 8:00 a.m. the next morning, Eugene found his father’s armchair covered in blood. By 8:32 the police arrived and began their investigation. Around 9:15 the preacher appeared to pray with the boy and offer spiritual advice.

At 9:45, Cassidy fell into bed, completely satiated.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You hear about the sheriff?” Jesse said by way of greeting when he returned home and saw Cassidy sprawled out on the couch.

“I’ve been cooped up all day. Why? Is everything all right?” Cassidy laced his voice with worry, furrowed his brow, and sat straight up. Should’a been an actor, he thought to himself.

“He’s gone. There isn’t a trace. No fingerprints, no clues, nothing. All they’ve got is a blood soaked recliner to go by.” Jesse threaded his hands in his hair and looked around the living room. Cassidy felt the slightest twinge of guilt when he saw how this was affecting the preacher.

He walked to where Jesse was, clapping a hand gently on the man’s back. “Come now, there has to be a lead. Or maybe some blood drops leading to something. All hope can’t be lost.”

Jesse just shook his head, avoiding Cassidy’s gaze. “You should’ve seen Eugene. He’s a wreck. First his mom, now his dad. Kid’s got nothing. God only knows how he’s going to make it through until graduation.” He turned his head toward the ceiling and stared, as if every answer could be found up there. “I don’t think praying is gonna solve this one, Cass.”

Cassidy looked up as well, attempting to hide his smirk. “Maybe not, Jess.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another three weeks passed, and another two people mysteriously vanished into the blue. After the second one- Donnie- had vanished, people began to get a little uneasy. But the new sheriff declared there was no connection with the Root murder as Donnie had simply vanished, no blood, no struggle, nothing. As far as anyone could guess he fled after being humiliated by the preacher.

There were perks to catching a man alone in the desert.

The third had been a struggle. Mr. Quincannon appeared old and fragile, but could hold his own. He targeted him after the disappearance of Donnie, therefore getting rid of one more hurdle. It had been late and for some, probably maniacal, reason or another “Rat Face,” as Cassidy referred to him as, was still at the office. The details were gory and the struggle took longer than expected for a man of his age. But after a thorough feeding, and unfortunate trashing of the office, the body was disposed of in the meat grinder.

The shreds of flesh found in the factory finally caused an outburst of panic.

Children weren’t allowed outside to play, people hardly left their homes aside from work and school, and there was even talk of a curfew being enforced. The press conference held outside of Quincannon Meat and Power was solemn, with few answers being given.

“All we know,” said the spokesman hired by the sheriff’s office, “is that there’s an extremely dangerous individual on the loose. There’s no footage and no prints to be found as of yet, so all we can say is to remain vigilant. We live in an open carry state, take advantage of that. Watch out for your neighbors as well as yourself.”

Cassidy chuckled as he turned off the TV. Guns or not, he was here and he was a force to be reckoned with.

He had had his fun. For the first time in months his belly was full and he felt normal again. If this were any other situation, he would have left town by now. But oh no, he had one last target. His own little plaything.

Cassidy would get Jesse Custer. The kinship he felt toward the preacher had to take a spot on the backburner. He needed Jesse’s blood, needed to feel the life draining from him. The preacher would be his last feed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience is a virtue and Cassidy gets his reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take note of the warnings! This actually fucked me up while writing it and I'm so sorry in advance.

Cassidy should have been celebrating. In any other case he would have been ecstatic at a hunt going as well as this. Little evidence and widespread panic was the goal and he had more than succeeded. But instead of being able to get the hell out of Dodge and never look back, Jesse Custer was still on his radar.

It should have been a clean kill once Quincannon was out of the picture. He could drain Jesse and move on with no feelings or regrets. But the exact opposite had happened.  
The fear came with repercussions, naturally. People hardly left their homes and church attendance plummeted. Jesse’s attempts at house calls or community sessions went unnoticed as his flock focused on their personal safety rather than their Lord and Savior. As Jesse’s usefulness declined, he was forced to stay within the confines of home. Cassidy had managed to stay out of his path for the first few days, instead locking himself away to plan how to combat Genesis. But as boredom set in, he found Jesse making more and more appearances. At first he humored the preacher to ease suspicions and remain on his good side. All it took was nightly binge drinking and a few movies. As time went on, Cassidy found himself enjoying the time spent together. He even sought out his preacher for entertainment.

It wasn’t ideal for the man he was looking to kill.

One week after Quincannon’s mysterious death, the two found themselves eating dinner. Not a microwaved one, as was Jesse’s weeknight staple, or a bottle of Jack Daniels for Cassidy, but an honest to God sit down meal. Jesse had appeared with a bag of fresh groceries and started cooking. Cassidy soon appeared- “Aw, my cookin’ ain’t good enough for you now, is it?”- and found himself disgusted by Jesse’s knife tactics. Soon he was showing him the proper way to slice through a potato and the two continued the meal. In 119 years it was one of the most companionable moments Cassidy had ever experienced and it somehow wriggled its way into his heart.

Both men set the table and dished out their own food. Jesse managed to dig out some of the nicer dishware, a welcome change from plastic. Although eating wasn’t a necessity, and Cassidy would never find a food as delicious as blood, he dug in alongside Jesse. The conversation was light hearted for a change and Cassidy was finding it less necessary to force out laughs.

“It’s shite storytelling, I’m telling you! You gotta add depth to the characters. I’ve been stoned off my arse for weeks at a time and it ain’t nothing like the movie paints it to be! I’ve smoked more bowls in a day than that so called “Dude” ever did in a month and I’m not a fuckin’ guru of any sort.”

“No one says anything about being existential or being a guru, Cassidy. It’s the plot that matters. Sometimes you need to lighten up and watch a comedy. Not everything is about character development,” Jesse said with a chuckle. Cassidy could have fired back, he had an arsenal of witty comments ready and waiting, but he remained silent.

Finally, Jesse looked at him and smiled warmly. “Listen, Cass, it’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone in my life I could trust and I just wanted to thank you for being my friend.”  
For one singular moment, Cassidy felt a warm flutter throughout his body. All this time spent alone and someone finally cared for him.

Unfortunately, the moment was brief. Thoughts of murder and bloodshed replaced any of the light that intruded upon Cassidy’s thoughts. He had spent too long in Annville to throw away his shot at a preacher’s neck. The hours he had spent contemplating Genesis could not be wasted. For the first time he had the chance to fight a power greater than his own, one that left a chance of him losing.

He was a monster. Monsters couldn’t have relationships, could not get attached. He was here for murder, not the warm, fuzzy feelings of friendship.

Without a word, he left the table. He tried to ignore the pain etched across Jesse’s face as he walked past. It wasn’t his concern if his actions hurt the preacher or not. The more suffering he had to endure, the better.

Back in the attic, Cassidy removed the notebook from underneath the mattress. It was unusual for him to put this much dedication into one kill as almost all were quick and simple. Pick a target and find a time to strike, no questions asked. He could have blamed it on Genesis and used the notebook as a way for him to log all of Jesse’s powers and the things he had done with it. He could have said it was a list of Jesse’s sins to use as a final form of mental torture. It should have been something profound, something that credited him for a mastermind take down. 

It wasn’t. Plain and simple, he felt Jesse deserved it. A man of his stature needed to have the perfect execution; although Cassidy wasn’t keen on being friends, he respected Jesse. A quick and easy offing would not do the trick this time.

His chicken-scratch handwriting took up the majority of the notebook. There was absolutely no organization from line to line, just concepts he found particularly striking.

His father’s shotgun, the one he treasures.

Strangle him with the rosary.

Take him down as the “flock” waits for the sermon.

Tear out the vocal chords first.

Let him live.

Cassidy read over the last thought multiple times. He felt a slight tug at his heartstrings, a plea from the darkest depths of his mind to spare this one soul. Over and over he read it, until the words strung together in a mantra of begging.

“No,” he shouted suddenly and threw the notebook across the room. It hit the plywood with enough force to send pages scattering. As they fluttered down around the room, Cassidy felt the anger rise from deep within his gut.

Jesse Custer had softened him. Never before had he considered sparing one of his targets. It was a kill or be killed world, and he was in it for the long haul. But somehow this mortal, this man who had surrounded himself with the scum of the earth as well as those pure and clean, was changing him. When Cassidy arrived in Annville, many saw him as Jesse’s parasite; a useless, draining organism that offered nothing good. They had been wrong. Jesse had been the parasite, latching onto Cassidy’s heart and refusing to let go. The more he struggled, the deeper the preacher buried in. Soon he would be fully embedded and change Cassidy forever.

He couldn’t have that. Not after all this.

As night faded into day, Cassidy realized what he had to do. It had been so clear all along. A notebook of plans never should have been necessary. The time to strike was coming.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“C’mon, Jess. The town is still scared shiteless from these murders. Even if it has been quiet, they still aren’t going to come out from their burrows this week. Just take a few days off and take me to the coast. Please? I’m askin’ as your best mate.” With that, Cassidy flashed his brightest grin, although it contained far too many teeth to be considered charming.

When Jesse rolled his eyes Cassidy knew he had won. “Fine. For two days, and just to the Gulf. There isn’t a chance in hell I’d drive up to California this time of the year.”

“Ah, Jesse, you know the way to my heart. I’ll find a way to thank you. Maybe I’ll wear that thing with the lace you like so much,” he offered with a wink.

Jesse’s chuckle followed him as he left the room. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Cassidy wanted to revel in the time spent driving to the coast. He wanted to enjoy the last few laughs with the preacher. He wanted to give himself a taste of the happiness he had felt the other night, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t risk the parasitic preacher burrowing any deeper. This was what he had been waiting for from the very beginning. His goal was within sight and any emotions couldn’t interfere to change that.

The drive took several hours, meaning there were several hours of shitty country music and corny jokes. A few times Jesse referred to their inside jokes, some about the “arseface,” others about their late night dinners after the “office.” Cassidy put on his mask, cackling along and cracking the dirtiest jokes he could think of. It was all for Jesse’s peace of mind, nothing else.

It had been timed perfectly. As they approached the pier located on the gulf, the sun was sinking below the horizon and the day’s traffic cleared out. As the beach blanket and cooler of beer were gathered, they found themselves isolated.

It didn’t take long to find a spot to place the towel and, soon after, the beers were brought out. Cassidy kept Jesse going, at one point telling him, “take a swig every time the tide goes up,” until he was tipsy. Not knackered or unconscious, just unsteady on his feet.

“Well, we drove all this bloody way. Come into the water with me,” Cassidy said as he stood. Jesse looked unsure until Cassidy stretched his hand out. “Come on, you can’t get me wet as fast as the water can.”

With a glint in his eye, Jesse stood and followed Cassidy into the sea. It started innocently enough, with them wading in until their feet no longer touched the bottom. Then, Jesse had the audacity to splash Cassidy. Anger swelled, until he reminded himself of the carefully crafted plan. He took on his persona once again, splashing back and dunking the preacher underwater until both were out of breath. There they remained, treading water lightly, fingertips coming into contact every so often.

If Cassidy had a heartbeat, he would have felt it accelerating. He missed the feeling of adrenaline and wondered how it would impact him as the moment drew closer.

He moved toward Jesse, until their chests were just inches apart. “Thank you for bringing me,” he drawled in as husky of a voice as he could manage.

“It helps that you wouldn’t stop bothering me about it,” Jesse quipped back. Cassidy shook his head slowly, avoided his gaze in an attempt to be coy.

“The ocean is beautiful, yes. But I’m glad to spend time here, with you. Alone.”

It was then Jesse’s face dawned with realization. It made Cassidy giddy to look at as he realized everything would go off without a hitch. The hardest part had been done.

The two stared at each other for a moment before Cassidy moved in, lightly pressing his lips to Jesse’s. It was chaste as could be and there was no movement, not until Jesse instigated it. Soon enough Jesse began to kiss back, wrapping his arm around Cassidy’s neck. The kiss continued, steadily growing deeper. Jesse had almost entirely given into Cassidy’s will; if Cassidy wanted the kiss deeper, he took him in more. If Cassidy tugged his leg, they were soon hooked around his waist.

Cassidy broke away, looking into Jesse Custer’s eyes one last time. At this point, emotions were secondary. All he could focus on was the kill.

As a pretense for foreplay, he presented Jesse with his index and middle finger, which the man eagerly began to lick. As Jesse sucked them, Cassidy tilted his head to gain access to the preacher’s neck. For a few moments he kissed and nibbled, leaving marks. He waited until he felt Jesse suck his fingers deeper, making it harder for him to access the Word.

Then, he bit.

It wasn’t the same way as any of the previous victims had been taken down. That called for finesse and a control of the blood. But here, in open water with no one around, he could be as messy as needed.

He used the full force of his jaw, took advantage of the large canines he had inherited from his father. In one smooth movement, the right side of Jesse Custer’s neck was gone.

There was a pause the length of a heartbeat. Then, a muffled scream around Cassidy’s fingers. He kept them lodged in his victim’s mouth, ignoring the bites he felt every so often. After all, he would heal.

He sucked and sucked, using his only free hand to grasp Jesse’s hair and hold him in place. It tasted heavenly. Never before had Cassidy had blood so good, so pure. Maybe it was the anticipation of the kill or maybe it was the glee at finally ridding himself of the parasite. It didn’t matter. He had won and the prize was as sweet as could be.

Cassidy couldn’t help but moan around Jesse’s neck, tenderly licking the way he would a lover. After a time, he noticed Jesse’s thrashes weaken and his head begin to loll. It was disappointing in a way. The preacher was so strong, such a good fighter. He had hoped he would hold out longer.

By then he felt safe removing his fingers from Jesse’s mouth. One had been bitten in half but was healing with the fresh blood coursing through his veins. He removed himself from Jesse’s neck with a sigh, already missing the iron taste. He dragged the body to the beach and laid Jesse down tenderly.

It was almost over, judging by the way Jesse’s chest hardly moved as he tried to draw breaths in. All this time, and Cassidy had gotten his prize.

“Thank you, Padre, for giving me what I’ve always wanted. If it makes you feel any better, you were absolutely orgasmic. The best blood I’ve ever tasted.”

Jesse’s eyes were turned toward the sky, glazed over. A small stream of tears rolled down his cheek, either from the pain or the betrayal, Cassidy did not know.

“I loved you. That was why I brought you in. I thought we would die together,” Jesse breathed out, gasping at the end of his sentence in sheer pain.

Cassidy gently stroked Jesse’s hair, looking him deep into his eyes, the light from them fading fast.

“Oh, Jesse, I think I loved you too. But you were a parasite, and we can’t have that, now can we?”


End file.
